


Rishi Rescue

by wormghoul



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Gen, Lana Beniko is not amused, Pre-KOTFE, Theron Shan/Sith Warrior mention, oneshot/slice of life, smoking cw, theron pretends to be a pirate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-12-08 19:02:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11652759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wormghoul/pseuds/wormghoul
Summary: Haunted by horrors of Ziost, Theron Shan erased himself from the known galaxy. Lana Beniko has been searching for him in the wake of the Zakuulan invasion, hoping to bring him home and help her save the galaxy one more time. But when she finds him, bringing him back might be more of a challenge than she thought.





	Rishi Rescue

**Author's Note:**

> Theron's disheveled appearance inspired by this picture, (https://goo.gl/WGouUs) drawn by hoiist on tumblr.

Rishi was the same as she’d left it, despite the toll the Zakuulan invasion had on the rest of the galaxy. The brief war hadn’t touched the bustling pirate town of Raider’s Cove, a scum hotspot still teeming with pirates, smugglers, and generally shady characters. Being here was like stepping back in time six years, back to what she hadn’t then known would be the better part of her life, chasing down the Revanite cult. Lana Beniko had never expected to come back here, ever. Memories sloshed up against the creaking wooden docks in waves that whispered her past to her, that sang to her about how she’d ended up in this mess, of how she was still in the thick of the mess. She did her best to shake it off though, after all, she hadn’t come to Rishi to wallow in nostalgia...or anything else this planet had to offer. She came to find her partner, Theron Shan.

The coordinates she’d obtained led her to a dingy lean-to built into the side a downed Revanite spacecraft. _Of course he’d be here,_ she hummed to herself, dismounting from her speeder, eyes scanning the area for sensors or traps even, since staying hidden like this wouldn’t come without heightened paranoia. Confident she wouldn’t spring anything, Lana made her way around the hull of the ship to what served as a door to the inside. She jammed her own slicer’s spike, which was, quite ironically, a gift from Theron, into the lock, bracing for security measures. But instead, the lock clicked open and she was met with silence for a good moment, so she slid inside. Something in her stomach curdled at this spy work, _would he be proud of her craftiness? What if she’d tripped a silent alarm?_ Her mind raced with questions like those as she stepped lightly down a dim hall towards the sickly blue glow of a room lit only by computers. Another question popped into her mind upon reaching the threshold of the main room, _what if he didn’t want to be found?_ Through some measure of luck or misfortune, that question didn’t have to be answered. He wasn’t even there. 

- 

Even after all his time on Rishi, he still hated the place. But each time he found himself disavowing his new home, reminded himself of why he was here at all. Rishi was the best place to disappear and never be found, the best place to play mercenary slicer, and the only place to do what had to be done. Theron finished his drink and passed some “credits” to the bartender. They were really data chips containing some unimportant nonsense that the pirate in disguise had paid him well to obtain. His “change”, a hefty credit pouch, was slid under the under the table. Theron nodded, took the bag, and left.

Making a detour to the ‘fresher, he counted the contents of the bag and changed his holo disguise. Once satisfied his entire fee was there, he left the bar looking like a different man than he’d arrived. He hadn’t used his real face in years, not since - his reminiscence was cut off by the noise of one of the daily street brawls that highlighted the rhythm of Raider’s Cove. Changing direction to avoid the scrap, Theron walked four extra blocks to make his monthly order of supplies with Qaraah, a local Rishii. The man didn’t ask too many questions and always delivered to dead drops in the eastern jungle, which was convenient enough. Theron thanked him before leaving on one of the four speeders he kept stashed around the outskirts of town. Suddenly exhausted after another long day of playing pirate with nothing really to show for it, he headed home towards the former Revanite island. 

-

The main room of Theron’s new safehouse was mesmerizing. Lana was surrounded by monitors and networked computers, all of which beeped and whirred and created a chaotic digital playground for a madman. To her left, half a dozen screens showed simulcast news footage from Dromund Kaas, Coruscant, half the core worlds, and even Zakuul. Though they were muted, or the audio only routed through Theron’s implants, she could still imagine the cacophony of them all talking over each other, perhaps in a few different languages too. Turning her gaze away from the newscasts let her see the slicers station he’d rigged up, an elaborate setup, stark stainless durasteel computer terminals sat flush against the rusting walls, several spikes stuck out from each terminal working diligently at their queries. But that wasn’t the room’s centerpiece. Straight in front of Lana were twin monitors, rigged to sit upright in portrait display mode. The one on the left had a photo of herself, the image looked as if it was skimmed from SIS intelligence surveillance footage. Below the photo, a program ran _thousands_ of security footage feeds through a facial recognition program, spitting back red outlined null results. She stared in fascination, watching the program work, barely able to recognize which planets the feeds were being pulled from before it moved on to the next batch. A shiver ran down her spine to see herself hunted like that, even by a friendly target. Unnerved, she glanced at the second monitor.

This one was running the same facial recognition program, but instead of her own face, Chel’a smiled down at her. The picture wasn’t from grainy intelligence footage, it looked like a holo from his personal collection. The Lord Wrath was on Yavin IV standing in front of the sunset in minimal armor, the moment picturesque and happy. She could picture when it had been taken, likely shortly before the end of the alliance, the two of them sitting in the warm afternoon sun, savoring what was left before they became enemies again. To know that all these years Theron had been looking for them set a fire in her chest. Chel’a’s eyes seemed to bore into her own as she stared at his life’s work in awe, the pictured begged Lana to bring him home.

 _“I’ll try,”_ she thought at the photo, moving away from the monitors to search through the contents of the rest of the room. A small table in the center of the room was covered in filmsi and datapads. The pads were locked, but a quick scan through the other documents showed he was making a living as a freelance slicer in the employ of several local gangs. He made quite the living that way, and it seemed that whatever money he didn’t eat he poured back into the search for Chel’a and herself. Records showed decent payments to bounty hunters, other slicers, retired agents, anyone who could be the boots on the ground for him, looking for his lost partners.

The dedication was striking, he was a man consumed. At least Lana had the budding Alliance to keep her in check whereas Theron had little to hold him back from the edge, something that was showing in the myriad of notes scattered around.

Lana would have explored more but the sound of a swoop bike pulling up and parking outside stopped her cold. That question, _what if he didn’t want to be found,_ returned to the forefront of her mind, despite the evidence he wanted them back. Unsure what to do, she crouched behind the table, and waited. 

-

Someone was there, in the safehouse. Theron stepped off the bike and immediately saw the poorly concealed rental speeder in the light brush on the edge of the clearing. It struck him that it could be nearly anyone on the planet. While he hadn't made many enemies, his services and their quality made him a high value target in the eyes of rivals for sure. Drawing a blaster from his belt he stepped gingerly toward the machine. The engine was still lukewarm, meaning the stranger hadn't been here long and could still be nearby. The VIN had been scratched off the frame, not unusual for Raider's Cove, but still unhelpful.

 He scowled and adjusted his grip on the blaster. With eyes alert and implants keyed to his security system he moved shadow-like through the brush and towards the entrance to the ship, careful to not expose himself in the wide open clearing. A cranial radio chip warned him that the system had identified a life form inside the building, _and not a friendly target either,_ he thought, examining the slicers spike protruding from the door lock. He checked his gun. Safety off. Set to toxicity ten. With a gentle nudge he opened the door as quietly as possible, even though his arrival on a rickety swoop would surely have alerted his guest.

The lights were mostly still off so he guided himself down the hall halfway through muscle memory and halfway by the cracking emergency exit paint on the floor. The ship’s hull creaked under his boots but there was nothing to be done about that other than have a sure grip on his pistol. Theron listened keenly for movement the closer he got to the main room, but heard nothing. He crouched down just before the threshold into the next room, taking as much cover as possible. The hair on the back of his neck stood up as he braced himself for ambush. Yet, a split second after his choice to be the passive party, he changed his mind and fired his pistol blindly into the room, trying to scare the intruder out and startle them.  

Red light exploded in his peripherals, casting a purple halo around the monitors. Stars, he hoped he hadn't broken any of them. The familiar hum of a lightsaber chilled him. A Sith was in his foyer. He heard boots crunch over fallen filmsi in his general direction. Split second thinking was his job, his specialty, but his mind only fired blanks as the intruder moved closer. He fired again. The bolt ricocheted off the saber and into the floor, an intimidation tactic he supposed, given that a true reflective block could have killed him. The tip of the saber came into his view and he let loose a third shot, but missed entirely, the bolt whizzed past the intruder and into a nearby chair. Theron cursed his shaking hands. He’d taken down two Darths but couldn't find the strength to keep a good hold on his blaster? Pathetic.

Based on their current pace, Theron guessed that in three or four more steps the intruder would reveal themselves. He took a deep breath, strangely resolved to his probable death. He just hoped he didn't shit his pants when he died, he'd heard people did that sometimes, but he didn't feel like testing the theory. He could see half the Sith now, an arm, a saber, and half a body. They were slim, lithe, and only lightly armored, so he aimed for the leg and fired another shot in vain. The Sith sidestepped it, oddly non confrontational. He admitted to himself this behavior rightly unnerved him. How could he fight an enemy that wouldn't fight back? The Sith stepped into full view then, and Theron realized he wouldn't be fighting an enemy at all, as Lana Beniko was standing in front of him, saber out and brow furrowed.

“Who are you?” She demanded, pointing the tip of her saber at his chest, heat emanating as far up as his face. Theron could barely stifle his disbelief as he closed his left eye to interact with the holo disguise interface, dropping the whole thing completely. Lana Beniko, _a_ _Sith_ _Lord_ , had out spied him and tracked him down to Rishi. 

-

“ _Theron.._ ” his name ghosted across her lips in a breath she’d been holding for far too long. She met his amber eyes with her own gold ones and disengaged her saber. He stood then, his own face touching the warm air for the first time in a while. She took in the sight of him, he looked so different; as if all the impact of the last five years that was missing from the face of Rishi had settled on his. His skin was pale and slightly sallow from years in holo purgatory and he had new scars on his jaw and eyebrow. He sported a poorly maintained beard and uppercut with even more marks visible under the short cropped hair. Long story short, Theron looked like he’d been shot to hell in a faulty escape pod. Silence settled between the pair as she examined him, with eyes and the Force, making sure it was really him. He answered with a blank stare as he holstered his blaster.

It really was Theron Shan, the SIS wonderboy who'd helped lead a coalition to destroy a galactic threat, living in a rotting starship and looking like hell. He didn't even know what to say to her, part of him felt like he was staring at a ghost, at some ghoulish hallucination, taunting him with his failure to find her.

“Well, I never thought I'd see you again, must finally be cracking” he ventured with an uneven tone, his voice only colored by the gravel he'd picked up in the last few years of playing pirate. Theron pushed past her to assess the damage he'd caused shooting at a ghost. After picking up the fallen filmsi he reached into his jacket and lit a cigarra, taking a long draw, holding it in until it burned before exhaling and shaking his head. To his surprise, she was still there when he turned around. He rubbed his eyes and took another drag in a poor attempt at grounding himself. “Tell me you’re real,” he half whispered, smoke curling out of his mouth like a yawning krayt dragon.

“Theron,” she whispered again, stepping forward to close the gap between them. Her eyes glowed in the dim light of the room and she couldn't believe what she was seeing. Anger flashed in her eyes. It was perhaps unreasonable to expect to find him in the same condition she’d left him in, but this was...extreme. The man she’d hoped would help her take down a tyrannical regime was slowly killing himself, letting himself rot away in front of monitors sucking on smoke.  When faced with someone he’d supposedly been looking so hard for, he could only shake his head and call her a hallucination? Whether he wanted to be found or not, Lana knew she had to drag him off Rishi before the damage done was irreparable, but not before letting him know exactly what she thought of him.

“I’d say you’re a sight for sore eyes, but not even the Emperor himself is that good a liar!” She thrust her hand hard into his chest, making him stumble and drop the cigarra, which she promptly stamped out.  “Do you have _any idea_ of how far you’ve fallen? Of the uselessness of rotting in your little den of self pity, Shan?” she added, not even the least bit sorry about her tone or the little look of loss on his face as he watched wisps of smoke die under her boot. She was ready to fight now, not willing to tiptoe around the ghost of the once great man. His face hardened as the last embers died on the floor. He waved a hand over an unseen sensor, giving life to old fluorescent bulbs that bathed him in sickly yellow light, highlighting the sharp edges of his jaw and the bruises under his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah I do,” he retorted, pacing in front of her like a caged animal, another thing she’d never seen him do. “I haven’t just sat on my _ass_ while the galaxy burns! I just figured a Sith would enjoy the chaos wrought by their Emperor’s son!” he barked, aiming for a low blow just as she had. Even if Lana had stayed the same Sith she was when they met, Arcann was destroying the Empire too, something she could never enjoy and he knew that. Lashing out in the same form, he snatched a datapad from the table and launched the thing across the room, aiming for her and missing, shattering it as it hit the wall, a loud crack echoing in the room. Static hummed as the pad fritzed and died, their eyes meeting again, crackling in time with electrical misfires.

“You bend over backwards to look for me, and when I drag myself through hostile space to reach you, you don’t even care?” She had half a mind to lift the pieces from the datapad with the force and launch them at him as her temper flared. But, he crumpled into a chair before she could, the Force around him buzzing with anger, guilt, and the acute sting of mourning.

Lana had been right, he’d assumed her a ghost, and brushed her off when she’d proven she was real, too. For him, it was easier to mourn, easier to continue burning holes in his eyes staring at screens that only served to confirm the worst as they shot back no matches and played back brutality after brutality. Theron’s body wracked itself with soundless sobs as he buried his face in his hands. He wasn’t sure what he wanted more, another cigarra or ten more minutes living a life that was _easier._ He swallowed hard, mouth tacky with thick, dry saliva. He had broken now, unfortunately, shattered so quickly when presented with the reality he dreamed of, but never thought possible.

“Lana, I..” he fumbled over his thoughts, looking up with sad eyes and pain in his voice.  “I figured you were gone, thought you’d shacked up with Marr and died on his flagship. And Chel’a....” he paused, eyes glassed over at her name. “I know I don’t have the Force or anything, but it always felt like she was alive, and I took odd jobs as a merc slicer to find leads, but after a while, it felt useless...and I meant it when I said I’d never expected to see you again,” he seemed to drone on and address no one, looking past Lana and directly into the eyes of the picture of her instead. Lana sat down next to him and put a hand on his forearm. She’d planned on forgiving him after all. The war had taken its toll, and to imagine his closest ally and the love of his life, both ashes under the feet of tyrants, well, Lana’s fury for his lifestyle waned.

“Come with me, then” she asked, “I’ve built up a resistance force, the Alliance needs you, I need you,” her offer was met with silence and a shake of his head.

“The Alliance doesn’t need a washed up agent,” he mused, busying himself with organizing all the things table with shaky hands. He wasn’t prepared for this, he’d half expected to die in some bombing before he’d ever see Lana or Chel’a again. Hope hadn’t lived in this house with him, despite what the monitors said. It was more of a catharsis, a crutch he didn’t know he could live without.

“That can be true, if you want it to be. But washed up or not, I need you, and” she paused, considering her next words carefully, “...Chel’a needs you.” she pulled out the big guns, she didn’t expect to have to tempt him back like this, especially given the Outlander’s fragile state. She’d come out of carbonite weak, and was growing weaker. Something was eating at her insides and Lana was worried for her, since the medics on Odessen had kept her in kolto since their arrival. Lana glanced at the picture of Chel’a on the monitor again, she was happy and healthy and above all, in love with Theron. Conscious or not, dying or not, she did need him.

“She’s alive?” Theron’s voice cracked, the words had bubbled up in his throat, choking him. Lana sighed, the truth was going to hurt, but she hoped it was enough.

“She’s recovering from carbonite poisoning on Odessen. She’s been asking for you when she’s awake, Theron.” Lana said quietly, each word a way to ask him back. For a moment that spark was there, joy bloomed in his chest before reality chased it out. People changed after carbonite poisoning, they lost memories, she could be remembering Manaan, or Rishi, she could have forgotten she loved him. That self denying attitude reached out from nest it had made in his chest, black grip reaching insidiously between every rib, stopping his heart.

“How long was she under? All five years?” he asked, worried about the answer. Five years was a long time for the poison to seep in. That voice that gripped his heart squeezed impossibly tighter when Lana was silent, confirming his suspicions in her non answer.

“She remembers, Theron, she asks for you,” Lana repeated herself, looking him dead in the eye. Her gamble with Chel’a’s condition had to work, because Lana doubted Theron would come with her if he knew the extent of it all. And his return was non-negotiable at this point, she’d fought too hard and he’d lost too much. If anything, they needed each other more than they ever had.

“You’re sure she remembers?” he implored, leaning across the table to watch the Sith’s face carefully, who just nodded. For the first time since he’s arrived, Lana saw light make its way back into his eyes, she stretched her hand a touch more.

“Well, she might not remember you like this,” she said motioning to his hair that now laid flat on his head, freed from its typical gel cage. Theron groaned, mood effectively lightened, Lana stood from the chair, rolling the tension out of her shoulders. Theron stood too, suddenly reinvigorated, able to give up the life he’d lived and hated.  

“Then I’ll come back and save the galaxy I guess, just, give me half a rotation to get sorted?” he asked her like he was running late, and he was, technically, five years late. She supposed another half rotation wouldn’t hurt.

“Only if you promise to shave in that time, too, Theron. You’re scruffier than the backside of a bantha.”

Theron couldn’t argue with that, so he headed towards his ‘fresher.

“And bring that ugly jacket of yours, for good measure.” she tacked on as he left.

**_“It’s not ugly!”_ **

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I'll get around to publishing my Theron/Sith Warrior fic eventually, but I hope you enjoyed this in the meantime.


End file.
